Inspiration
by where-my-heart-resides
Summary: ONESHOT. Inspiration. What exactaly is it? It's how you live. But, is it really? Can you live without inspiration? My first HxHr! R&R, morks.


Hi! It is ME again! Yup, this will be my sixth one-shot. I hope to one day be known as ONE-SHOT WOMAN! Lol. Anyway, this is my first HxHr story, and I'm hoping it's a tearjerker. You know what's funny? Fan fiction can change a person. Before fan fiction, I was a BIG RxHr shipper. Now, I'm half and half on being an HxHr shipper, and a DxHr shipper… I just can't make up my mind!

NOTICE: I'm dedicating this to my best fan fiction friend, Kiki. Thank you for always being there to help me along, and for being the inspiration for a lot of my stories. I know that you are currently in the half and half position between HxHr, and DxHr. You've helped me along with almost all of my one-shots, and I love you! So, this one-shot is for you.

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Life is like a painting. A blank canvas in front of you. A million different colors of paint.

To paint a picture, you have to have inspiration. 

You have to have a reason to spread the paint in front of you. To smear the colors along the white. To create a master piece.

So, without inspiration, there isn't a reason to live.

But, what makes inspiration?

Is it a smile? Is it the grass beneath your feet?

We might never know. But, what we do know, is that inspiration has the word spirit in it.

So, if it is true that inspiration comes from our spirit, and our spirit comes from our inspiration, then what happens if you happen to misplace one or the other?

What if there is no spirit?

What if there is no inspiration?

No reason to paint a picture. No reason to continue living.

Just a giant rock in your stomach, taking the space that you used to house your emotions in?

A giant lump in your throat, seemingly unmovable.

And yet, you continue to live.

Why is that?

Is it because of your memories?

It might be.

I have memories of the best times of my life.

Of him.

Harry Potter. My best friend in the whole world.

The man that I loved.

But, that's all I have left to remember him. Many memory charms have invaded my mind.

So many, that I barely remember who I am some days. Some days, I even forget my husband, Ron Weasley.

But, I remember Harry.

But not for the reason that you may think.

It's not because he gave me my spirit. Or my inspiration.

It's because of his eyes. His eyes, those jade green eyes.

I don't remember much else of him.

But, I remember those eyes.

I dream about those eyes.

Sparkling, full of laughter, and full of spirit and inspiration. Those were his eyes.

I can't remember him kissing me. Or holding me. Or even him smiling at me.

Just his eyes. Those beautiful eyes.

I feel so close to them. Like I could see right into his soul through his eyes.

Not even with my husband do I feel like that.

All I see are is murky, brown ones. There is no clear sincerity in there.

They aren't his eyes.

I do remember him dying.

A jet of green light, flying at him.

It wasn't a nice, pretty, clear green, like his eyes.

It was clouded with hate and pain.

I watched as it hit him.

I ran towards him.

He couldn't be dead yet.

And, you know what? He wasn't.

The boy who wouldn't die. He stood up, and shot the final curse at that dreadful man.

And, as Voldemort fell, Harry did too.

His mother's love was gone. It no longer shielded him from death. 

And, as he murdered the person who he hated most, he must have felt such a great hate, that there was no more room for love. 

I guess that what they say is wrong. Love isn't unconditional.

Is that where I get my spirit? Is it a drive to live, after I watched the person I loved most die? No, I don't think so.

I remember my wedding day.

Standing next to the man with the stringy hair, and the murky eyes.

I still do not know why I married him. I didn't love him. I don't love him. And I don't think I ever will love him.

But, I remember seeing a man, standing in the background.

Nobody could see him. But I could.

His green eyes, standing out magnificently against the pale color of the room.

Maybe that's my inspiration. The fact that my one and only is with me always. But, I don't think that's it.

Did you know, that if you look closely enough, you can also spot the word raisin in the word inspiration?

So, maybe raisins are my inspiration. That's as likely as it is that my spirit is my inspiration.

But, I think my real inspiration is that there isn't such thing as inspiration.

There is just me, and those green eyes.

No pointless words to describe it. There is no spirit. No inspiration. 

Just me, and those beautiful, green eyes. 

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Did it make sense at all? I hope so. I liked it! Did you? I hope so! R&R!


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